In
the eggshell-white beachsand and weathered granite ruins were
found corroded Chinese, Roman and Persian coins from 20 centuries
pasttestimony that tiny Mahabalipuram, South India, was once
a vital crossroads seaport. No doubt some deistic sculpture created
from Mahabalipuram’s tight-grained granite sailed its way to dynastic
China. Traders once called the town `Seven Pagodas,’ after seven
lilliputian temples hewn from solid rock. Today, specialty buyers
and tourists from everyland cruise the beaches and flint-smelling
shops stuffed with common sculpture and curios. Street urchins
try to hustle soapstone knockoffs. Long-dead urchins probably
sold cheapies to Roman sailors. But somewhere in back of shops
or inside a home’s courtyard teenage tyros of sculpture are chinking
away at stone, perfecting the art they are studying at college,
and earning a few hundred rupees during their weekend or vacation
time. They are students at the Government College of Architecture
and Sculpture, a wild warren of buildings and shops that look
like they were designed by a post-modernist Tagore. The college
facade doesn’t reflect the ancient architecture taught within.
But, this is where the good stuffthe rare, big, skill-kissed
sculpturecomes from. And where 220 boys from ages 13 and up polish
their minds and hands with iconometry, granite engineering, chisel
wielding, figure painting and a hundred other facets of the art,
along with academics. And its free for those who make it in, mostly
sons of artisan families. The government provides the whole deal,
“from pencils and erasers on up,” says K.S. Shanmugam, the college
principal. He tells us the school offers degrees in temple architecture,
temple painting and sculpturestone, wood, stucco and metal. The
3-year degree course includes music and dance, philosophy, Sanskrit
literature, art aesthetics, history of Hindu architecture and
arts and temple conservation. Fifteen graduate each year with
a B.Sc. degree. They usually join the studio/shops of established
stapathis, master architect /sculptors, turning out high quality
work on a pricey commission basis.

In
1957 the school began simply as a roughshod workyard that lathed
out marvelous pieces while trying to purify and propagate the
old technology to a new generation. Vaidyanatha Stapathi, father
of V. Ganapathy Stapathi, the internationally acclaimed Hindu
temple architect sculpture, was the first head of this school.
The elder architect held the post for three yearstill 1961when
he was succeeded by his famous son Ganapathy who navigated the
institution into its present eminence and size. He remained its
head for close to three decades till his retirement in 1988. Ganapathy
says, “There is a bright future for this institution. The alumni
are doing well with regular jobs, with occasional opportunities
for independent designing and executing.”

C.
Harikrishnan, 25, a graduate says that “Even as students in the
diploma classes, boys acquire enough proficiency to design and
carve busts. Depending on their ability, these novices earn some
Rs.200 for what they can produce in a holiday of 2-3 days.”

When
asked about the demands for seats in the institution, the school
principal K.S. Shanmugam says, “There is tremendous competition
for the pre-diplomathe first two-year program.” So far the school
has not admitted any student from outside India. Tamil is compulsory.
There is no bar against foreign students. “But no one has approached
us yet,” says Shanmugam. Though the majority of apprentices are
Hindus, there are several Christians studying. A hostel is under
construction and is expected to be ready in two years.

Boopathy
Stapathy, 52, is in charge of the Metal Section concerning metal
sculpture, which was begun in 1978. He recalls, “They scouted
me out and brought me over here. I felt flattered when they told
me `If you aren’t joining, we are closing the section.’” He had
undergone intense training in Swamimalai, a famous center for
bronze icon production.

S.K.
Sivakumar, 28, a diploma holder from the school, is the son of
a diamond cutter. He works in the thriving workshop of Nagaraja
Stapathy in Madras. In a fascinating process he is molding a meru
(mountain-like structure) made of a blend of five metals into
shape. Sivakumar says he averages about US$100 a month. When a
good project rolls in, he can bring home US$300 for one month.
But other months can be lean.When asked if a student from an artisan
family is likely to out perform one from a family with no architectural
or sculpting background, he quickly noted his colleague, 35-year-old
Krishnan Palani, who is a son of a farmer. “He is a crack embosser
and engraver of metals,” says Boopathy. Palani says, “I haven’t
had any formal qualification. Began at 13 as a hack helping a
stone mason engaged in building the temple tower at Tiruvanmiyur.”

Are
girls frowned upon with hammer and chisel in their hands? Sivakumar
observes, “It isn’t so. Only they happen to prefer painting. They
fancy it as a hobby. They take to Tanjore gold leaf painting with
studding of the flashy gems thrown in and also modern glass painting.
Even many society girls evince interest in this and practice it
as a hobby.”

School
principal Shanmugam proudly relates one of the current projects
the college is engaged in: “We are creating a horse pillar hall
consisting of forty equestrian warriors to be erected in Kotiswaram,
Jaffna, in Sri Lanka. When it is ready, it will be taken to Sri
Lanka and assembled there.”

V.
Ganapathy Stapathi says that traditional housing architecture
has not been adopted into the college’s curriculum. He says, “The
Western mode of building architecture made great strides in India
on account of institutional training. But to lead a simple, happy,
contented life for the poor and middle classthose house patterns
are yet to develop. Only Indian tradition can offer solutions.
But the passage is blocked. This school can play a role only if
the public is taught to be disenamored of the flashy West and
reorient themselves to the simple but beautiful life pattern of
their forebearers.”

Tradition
vs. Technology

The
Japanese have flicked out their trading tentacles to the granite
bedrock of Mahabalipuram, offering big yen for granite that will
be carved into Shinto and Buddhist tombstones or veneered onto
skyscrapers back in Japan. While most of the carving is hand-executed,
the Japanese employ sophisticated cutting and polishing machines
and computer-aided-design to get an edge on competitors. Hindu
stapathis in India are also dabbling in techno-sculpting, but
most are shy of letting hand work go entirely in favor of machine
work. Woodworking in Mahabalipuram was given a technological boost
a hundred years ago by the British who wanted more and better
export objects d’art. World class temple architect V. Ganapathy
Stapathi observes on stone, “Machines can’t give the finish human
hands do. We don’t turn our back on modern equipment. It’d be
myopic and retrogressive. But there are areas in the Hindu art
of making images which demand the feel of God-given hands. The
proboscis of Ganapati and the serrated jaws of Vishnu as the Lion/man
avatar defy polishing machines.” But one alumnus of the Government
College of Architecture and Sculpture uses technology extensively.
Rangaswami Stapathy has developed a thriving studio that specializes
in computer design and machine-polished statues and granite blocks.
In particular demand are his interior decor items: domes, flower
pots and pillars. If pure granite temple building becomes popular
in the global Hindu community, the protean power and visual accuracy
of computer depiction of design would enable clients to custom
select features of their future edifice while watching a three-dimensional
image on screen.